It’s over a week before I see him again. And yes, I hate that that’s the way I’ve started calculating time. The man is single-handedly responsible for the bookstore’s potential destruction, and still, my traitorous body and my even-more-traitorous eyes love the sight of him.
Keeping busy helped, though. Karli and I hired Chloe, my old college roommate, to look into our books. More customers are coming in by the day, and the time we have in between them, Karli and I spend planning the book reading. Things are changing, and I feel like Karli and I can turn this around, even if it’s with our own optimism as currency.
Life is busy. And yet, my mind finds ways to circle back around to the memory of Cole Porter. It hits me one evening, alone in Between the Pages, just before closing. Thoughts of his smug smile and the silken growl of his voice.
“No,” I say. “No, no, no. Go away.” I turn up the volume on the radio and sing along to a peppy tune, heading to the storage room instead. I grab the box of books I’d bought from the consignment store and I carry it out to the reading room table, my glue gun stacked on top. This should keep both mind and hands busy.
But then the doorbell jingles, and there he is, as if summoned by my imagination.
He’s not in a suit today. That’s my first observation, as Cole Porter stands in the doorframe in a button-down and slacks. Hands in his pockets, the picture of casual male power. A slow smile spreads across his face as he sees me with my pile of trinkets.
“An arts and crafts project, Skye?”
I put the box down on the counter. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to look at my investment.” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “I did agree to allow this business to continue, incorporated into my building, if you succeed.”
I huff a sigh and start piling up the books I’d purchased. They’re pretty, with old spines, but they’d only cost me pennies.
“If you’re here for a financial checkup, I can’t help you. I can give you the number to our new accountant, though.”
“You took my advice?”
“Yes,” I say primly. “I suppose something good comes from having a ruthless CEO as our overlord.”
He chuckles and reaches for the glue gun. “I haven’t seen one of these in forever.”
My project feels a bit silly now with him standing here. He’s a business tycoon, and I’m trying to create something that might be Instagram-worthy for our customers.
“We’re doing great,” I say. “We’ve had a ton of new customers. I think the posters are really working.”
He arches an eyebrow in an infuriating move, hands still in his pockets. “Oh?”
“Yes.” I grab a stack of the books and the glue gun, carrying them to the reading table in one of the adjoining rooms.
“Do you want the rest of this, too?” Cole follows me in, the heavy box lifted high in his arms.
“On the table.”
He puts it down and starts to sort through the books. “Gulliver’s Travels?”
“A classic.”
He picks up another. “How to Cook with Lavender, a Step-by-Step Guide. These books look…”
“Old? Dated?”
“Completely unsellable.”
I search through the photos in my phone, trying to find the inspiration picture I’d chosen. “I know,” I say. “They’re not for sale.”
“They’re part of your personal collection?” He opens the cookbook, eyes scanning with a doubtful look on his face. “Tell me, how does lavender quiche taste?”
I hold up my phone for him to see. “This is what I’m going to make.”
“You’re going to glue books together in the shape of a heart?”
“Yes. We have a small wall in between the Sci-Fi room and Contemporary Fiction, and right now, it’s just a bunch of shelves. But by putting this there instead, people could look in between the two rooms in the shape of a heart. A bookheart.”
Cole is quiet for a long moment, flipping through another book. I wait for the reproach, the tone of voice that will tell me it’s ridiculous. Like thinking plants or cats will save a failing business.
I know it’s a long shot. I know things like this are nothing more than fun little quirks. But if I keep pushing, maybe I can make this bookstore as magical for all customers as it is for me. Maybe I can make it a destination, a place people come to take pictures. A place for book lovers and dreamers.
But Cole doesn’t say anything disparaging. Instead, I’m treated to the marvelous view of him carefully rolling up his sleeves, one inch at a time, methodical and calm. “Well,” he says. “I think you’ll need some help with that, no?”
“You want to help?”
“I know how to use a glue gun.” He reaches for it and turns it back and forth. “Well, I think I do. Point and shoot. How hard can it be?”
I should tell him to leave. He’s in the store he’s planning to tear down, looking like a million bucks, and I’m letting him.
Consistency is key, Skye, and you’re not displaying it.
I choke back my inner logic. “We need to stack them first, I think.” I grab a few of the books and start arranging them in a formation. In my head, I know exactly how I want it to look, but actually getting there proves harder.
Cole feeds me books, one after another, and helps me prop them up on the sides. “Like this?”
“Yes.” I glance at him under my side-swept bangs. He looks collected, like he does this all the time. “Why do you want to help? We’re practically enemies,” I point out.
He doesn’t answer, just hands me another book.
“Well,” I say, “maybe I’m giving myself more significance than I deserve. You’re my enemy, but maybe we’re more like a small obstacle in the way. An annoying mosquito, you know.”
Cole’s lips are twitching again. “You’re not a mosquito.”
“But we are throwing a wrench into your plan of world domination.”
“Hmm. Yes, you are certainly doing that.” He hands me another book.
“So why help us?”
“Maybe I don’t like winning without a bit of fight,” he points out. “Maybe I like winning fair and square. That’s part of the joy of betting.”
I inspect the heart we’ve constructed. It’ll look good surrounded by yet more books. It’ll look like the shelf itself opened up into a heart-shaped window, a glance into a different world.
“So this is like entertainment for you.”
He plugs the glue gun in. “Sure, if you want to see it that way.”
That makes it easier to understand, then. I lean over and pretend to inspect his forearms. Cole glances down and then back at me, a frown on his forehead.
“What?”
“Just looking for scratches.”
His face clears into a grin. “My new cat and I get along very well, I’ll have you know.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course. She probably has a butler and two valets.”
“You seem to have a very skewed idea of my life.”
I cock my head and look at him. Cole looks back at me, the picture of smugness itself. This might not be the right time to admit that I’ve been stalking him on the internet. Simply write in Cole Porter and a wealth of information appears. Nearly everything about him is available at your fingertips.
How much he’s worth (in the billions). The building influence he’s amassed at such a young age (thirty-four). The lack of a serious partner for years (at least four).
“I know you have a driver who takes you everywhere.”
“You’ve been paying attention.”
“I saw you arrive here once. You climbed out of the backseat.”
“It’s more efficient. I can work while I travel.” He hands me another book. “The glue gun is hot.”
I reach for it. “Thanks.” Time to make permanent decisions.
“Do you want me to hold the books still?”
“Yes, please…” We both fall silent in concentration as I glue the base of the book-shaped heart into place. He helps hold it down, big hands spread across the covers of two discarded books. He has long fingers, tan across the back, with a smattering of hair faint across his knuckles. Those hands had been on my skin. Caressing, smacking, gripping. And his fingers had been inside me.
I glance away quickly, only to see amusement on his face. He might not be able to read my thoughts, but the flush on my cheeks is clear. “You’re wearing your hair down today,” he comments. “You normally don’t.”
“It gets in the way when I work. And you shouldn’t be noticing that.”
“I shouldn’t?”
“No.”
“In the way that you’re not noticing my non-existing scratches?”
He’s got me there, and my eyes drift down to the opening in his shirt, where skin beckons. “All right. So I’m not exactly consistent. I think we’ve established that where you’re concerned.”
His grin is back. “I disagree. You’re consistently difficult.”
I reach for another book and glue it, his hands moving effortlessly to help pin it in place. “You’re a consistent nuisance, too.”
“I haven’t been told that in a very long time.”
“Because you’re surrounded by ass-kissing sycophants? I’ve heard that’s a problem among the powerful. My sympathies.”
Cole laughs, and it’s warm and true. I’d meant to poke fun at him, but he’d taken it in stride, and the sound unsettles me. I like it too much. “Yes,” he says. “I’m coddled from morning to evening, with no one daring to tell me the truth. It’s how I’ve built a booming business.”
“Really?”
“No. You have to handle critique, or you’ll get nowhere in life.” He reaches across and holds the next set of books effortlessly in place. “Also, excellent use of the word sycophants.”
“I have a degree in English Literature.”
“It shows. Now glue these.”
I follow his advice. We don’t know anything about each other, despite the fact that we’ve seen each other naked. “How did you build yours?”
“My business?”
“Yes.”
He smiles, shaking his head. “Are you trying to get more advice out of me to win this bet? You know I’ll give it to you, but it’s a dirty tactic.”
“Maybe.” I reach for another book, stacking it on top. “Or maybe I just realized that we actually know very little about one another.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and nods at the heart. “It’s looking good.”
“You’re deflecting.”
A sigh. “Well, I started with small business lots. They were old office buildings that no one wanted.”
“Except you.”
“Except me,” he agrees, handing me another book to glue in place.
“And then you flipped them?”
He snorts, perhaps at my layman term. “Yes. We renovated them, timed it right with the market, and sold for a profit.”
“You make it sound easy,” I say. “Did it all fall in line perfectly for you?”
“No. It was a lot of work. We weren’t many working together in the beginning, so it was a lot of long hours.”
I wonder if he still works long hours. He must, to maintain the empire, but he still makes time to sit here and glue books with me. It makes me… well. There must be an ulterior motive somewhere.
“And then business took off. Going from office buildings to the Reese hotel…”
His eyes flash with the memory, but I don’t look away from him, despite my own flushing cheeks. “Yes,” he says. “It was a leap. Not everyone believed I could do it.”
“But you did.”
He inclines his head. “Your belief in yourself is all that really matters. Careful, there. It’s toppling to the right.”
He’s right. I straighten the heart and lean back, inspecting it. Nearly done, and I only have a handful of books left. This couldn’t have worked out better if I’d counted them.
“Your nephew isn’t around tonight,” he says. “He’d like this, no?”
I smile. “He would. Anything with building or tools, he loves.”
Cole’s face is unreadable. “You like kids.”
“I do. Pass me that book? No, the red one.”
He hands it to me in silence, and I study him again. He’s being polite, civil. Cordial. So am I. It’s… odd. And nice. And that’s when my suspicion hits with full force.
“You want a repeat of the night at the hotel,” I say.
Cole’s eyes snap to mine, and I can tell by the sudden fire in them that I’m right. “So what if I do?”
“Were the plants a part of the seduction scheme? The glue gun?”
“Would you take the plants down if I said yes?”
“No.”
“Then yes, sure, they were.”
I cross my arms over my chest. This doesn’t make sense. That night had been beyond my wildest dreams… exciting, daring, dangerous. Sexy. He’d been fantastic in bed.
“You’d be risking so much.”
Judging from the faint amusement in his eyes, he’s finding my whole act amusing. “I would?”
“Yes. Sleeping with someone you’ve made a business deal with. Not very professional.”
He hands me another book and nods at the top of the heart. “You’re nearly done, Skye. Don’t stop now.”
I take it from him in an angry movement. This whole conversation, him here… it’s beyond frustrating. I could have a repeat of that night—the night I’d been dreaming about for so long—but only if I was willing to sleep with the enemy. With him.
Because despite his cut-glass jawline and his casual laughter, he will tear down this business if he doesn’t deem it worthy. I’d read enough online about his ruthless business decisions to know that’s true.
“You’re the last person on earth I would sleep with,” I say. “You’re the reason I might be unemployed in a month and a half.”
Cole supports the bookheart with strong, capable hands. His handsome face is set in clearly composed lines. He doesn’t look remotely flustered by this conversation. “Everyone in the business will be compensated. You won’t be empty-handed.”
“If I sleep with you.”
His eyes flash to mine, and for the first time since I’ve known him, there’s actual anger in them. “No. Absolutely not.”
“That’s not what you’re suggesting here?”
“No. Fucking hell, no. You’d think that of me?”
I look over at him. His jaw is working, a faint flush spreading up his neck. There was one headline that had stood out in particular when I’d searched his name. Cole Porter sued by former business partner, alleging malpractice over his departure.
“I don’t know what to think,” I say honestly. This man is effectively a stranger, and I need to remember that. “We don’t know each other very well. And you are trying to tear down the place I love, Cole.”
“A very unlucky coincidence,” he says darkly. “Tell me. The night we spent together at the hotel. Why did you leave me that note? Truthfully?”
Now my cheeks flame with the memory. Thanks for the night, stud. “I didn’t want to push it,” I say.
“Push what?”
“I don’t know. Myself? My luck?” I throw up my hands. “I don’t sleep with random men at bars. This is me,” I say, sweeping a hand over my casual clothes. “I spend my days here. I’m currently glue-gunning. And you’re… well, you. I knew that even before I found out you owned the whole damn hotel.”
His wolfish grin is back. “I’m thinking of turning Legacy into a chain of bars. All because of you.”
“Oh, God help us.”
“But you enjoyed the night.”
I look up at the ceiling. “Yes.”
“I wasn’t planning on propositioning you like this. You beat me to it. But of course I want a repeat of that night. Don’t you?”
I look at the shelves around us, and force myself to picture Cole in a hard hat, tearing them down one by one. “No.”
“If things were different—if I wasn’t me, and you weren’t you—you wouldn’t want to sleep with me again?”
He’s asking the impossible. I push away from the finished bookheart and stand. Waves of power and raw eroticism are wafting off him, and I don’t know if I want to punch him or pull him close.
“That’s a hypothetical,” I say.
“Yes. It is.”
“So it doesn’t matter what the answer is.”
He smiles, like I’ve just confirmed something, and I shake my head at him. “Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s impossible. We’re enemies. Rivals. You’re my nemesis, my least favorite person on earth.”
Cole runs a hand along his jaw, the playful look in his eyes back. “Huh. I can see how that might be a problem, yes.”
“A small one. It’s not personal.”
“Right, of course not.” He looks like a million bucks, even in the dim lighting of our bookstore reading room. In a different universe he would be the commander of armies, or crowned an Olympic athlete. His smile turns crooked. “Well,” he says. “Have I made you speechless? That must be a first, for you.”
“I’m not.” I unplug the glue gun and roll up the cord with brisk movements. “I was just thinking of how to proceed. I think I might install the heart tomorrow. I’ll need some nails, and a hammer.”
Cole opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger and cut him off. “And I don’t need any help. No deliveries. Thanks.”
“So independent.” He runs a hand along his jaw, looking so arrogant that I can’t help pushing the boundaries.
“This must be a new experience for you, huh?”
“Glue-gunning? Yes.”
“Women saying no to you,” I clarify, sitting on the table next to him. Playing with fire again.
“Hmm. You mean that as an insult, but I hear it for the compliment it is.”
Infuriating man. “Tell me, in the spirit of getting to know one another better, is destroying innocent businesses a hobby for you or more of a regular pastime?”
Cole pushes back his chair and stands, forcing me to tilt my head back to see him. “It’s usually just business,” he says. “But in this case, it’s definitely more of a hobby. I made an exception for you.”
I grit my teeth. “Destruction is such a cliché, though, for men. You don’t have some weird Napoleon complex, do you?”
“Hmm. If I remember correctly, that would only work if I was either short, or more crudely, below averagely sized.” He leans in, the scent of linen and man washing over me. “You know that’s false on both accounts.”
“Why are you really here?”
His eyes narrow. “You’ve already figured that out, Skye.”
“So it was that good for you too, huh,” I conclude softly. “You could have any woman you want, and you’re trying to get another night with a lowly bookstore clerk.”
His eyes flit down to my lips. “It was average.”
I scoot closer and watch in triumph as his eyes drift lower, to my body, to where my legs are splayed for him to fit between them. “Average, Porter? You wouldn’t be here if you thought it was anything less than fantastic.”
His hand races up my arm, along my jaw, strong fingers tipping my head back. His eyes look nearly black. “I’ll admit it if you do,” he says.
My knees lock on either side of his waist. “Never.”
He bends to kiss me, but I race to kiss him first, and we collide with a fury. It’s lips and mouths and then, as he slides his tongue against mine, all heat.
My hands on his neck. His around my waist, pulling me closer.
I melt against the hard lengths of his body. Images of him in bed rise up, unbidden, behind my eyelids. How his mouth feels on my skin. How his body moves above mine.
I shiver as he traces his lips down my jaw. A strong hand grips my hair and tilts my head back to give him better access. My neck is my weak spot. Always has been, and Cole seems to remember.
I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on as his lips are followed by the soft scratch of his five-o’clock shadow.
“Damn it,” I growl and pull him back up to my lips. He groans into my mouth, his hands dropping to grip my hips.
I want to get his suit off him. I want to hit him. I want to tear him limb from limb. I want to cry and ask why did it have to be you?
My hands hover above the buttons on his shirt, undecided. He breaks apart long enough to growl a rough taunt against my lips. “Coward.”
I tug at his hair. “Asshole.”
“Since before I met you.”
His hands grip my thighs and I’m pulled closer, until I feel the hardness of him against me.
“Fuck.” His bruising kiss takes my breath away. It’s not like it was the night we slept together at his hotel. That had been a game, step by step, both of us learning and indulging in our shared passion.
This is a wildfire. There’s no finesse to my hands on his neck, or his lips on mine. It’s a fight and we’re both aiming for victory.
I scoot back and flinch as I knock over a pile of books. Cole ignores it, switching his attention to my collarbone.
Books.
Bookstore.
Between the Pages.
I push at his shoulders. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” He doesn’t stop kissing my neck, and my eyes drift half-closed in response. “We’ve done it before.”
“Not when I knew who you were.”
He pulls back, eyes dark and voice darker still. “You wound me.”
“Hah.” I slide off the table, taking a few unstable steps away from him. Fire is still racing in my veins.
He narrows his eyes, and then casually, like nothing has happened, he reaches up to fix the collar of his shirt. “Always a pleasure, Skye.”
“This changes absolutely nothing.”
“I’d be surprised if it did.” He stops next to me, and his hot breath against my ear makes me shiver. “Thanks for clarifying a few things.”
I sweep my hair back and try to get my breathing under control. “I detest you.”
“Sure you do.” He stops by the door to the bookshop and gives me his trademark smirk, the one I’d found darkly charming that night at his hotel bar. “Just think how good hate sex we’d have.” And then he’s gone, and I’m left alone again, heart beating a fiery rhythm in my chest.
